The Other Side of the Rose
by LaurelRosie
Summary: The Hunger Games. The brutal starving, fighting, and death. Told from Primrose's point of view. Rated T for violence.


**The Hunger Games – Told from Primrose's point of view. **

**A/N: I did write this story a while ago, and posted it on Fanfiction, but it wasn't that good, and I wasn't really sure where I was going with it, so I just took it down. I've re-written it now, and hopefully it's better, but I'll let you make that decision for yourself. Hope you enjoy! ^-^**

_I can make out her shape vaguely—just enough to tell that it's her. She struts forward, her long dark hair tied up in a neat bun, her smooth skin pale, her eyes hard and cold, her mouth set in a thin line. She seems unafraid, but I can tell that behind the darkened features, and the strong front, she is scared. I can tell by the way her hands tremble slightly, and the way her knees shake as she enters the podium. I can tell by the way her eyes flit around, searching for my face in the crowd. I know all these things about her best. _

_I stand rooted to my spot, unable to move and unable to speak, only thoughts rushing through my mind. _How is this possible?_ This can't be happening, it can't be. It's my fault. She's been providing for me since she was my age; her name entered 20 times, some of those extra slips of paper were because of me._

_But suddenly, the podium she's standing on fades to the soft green foliage of a forest, the sky behind us a clear blue, fluffy white clouds resting up there. Confused, I stumble back, and fall on a root jutting out. She looks at me, and whispers softly, "It's not your fault."_

_But I know it is._

I bolt upright, almost banging my head on the sloped ceiling. I look around, confused for the moment about my surroundings—where is the forest? The trees, the bushes, they've all disappeared.

It takes me a moment to realize that I wasn't in fact actually in a forest... that it was just a dream. But the realization that it was a nightmare scares me more than anything else. My nightmares, besides from giving me a sense of impending doom, make me realize just how scared I am that the events that took place might actually happen. Sometimes... they do. I remember having months of dreams of mine explosions before my father died. She hears too much, they had whispered to each other, scared for my sake that I was frightened by the news. _We shouldn't expose her to that_, my mother had whispered to my father the night I woke up screaming and crying about the mines. _It's not healthy. _My father had answered, his gruff yet gentle voice helpless, _There's nothing we can do about it._

If I had been brave enough, I would have urged him not to work in the mines, to stay home, but of course I couldn't have done that. It wasn't even worth trying. They'd give me hugs and kisses and sing me into wonderful dreams if I had tried telling them that. But the nightmares wouldn't leave my minds...they stayed real, strangely touchable, until the day the news came that my father was dead... in a mine explosion.

I shiver now, and try to tell myself that this _won't_ happen to Katniss. I've been telling myself this so much over the past week that I almost believe it now. I know I'm only believing what I want to believe, but even so, it makes me feel better.

I get up softly, trying to be quiet so as not to wake Katniss. She's a heavy sleeper, but I want to be careful just in case. I hear my own padded footsteps as I walk cautiously across the floor, to where the goat cheese I'm giving Katniss for the reaping is laying on a stool. At the sound of my footsteps Buttercup rises, yawns lazily, and then puts his head back down on his paws. I smile softly to myself. You'd never tell he was the same near-dead kitten I had taken home almost four years ago. He's healthy now, bigger, and so sweet. I love him with all my heart.

I pick up the small goat cheese, adorned with a basil leaf on top, and walk over to the table. I imagine Katniss's face as she sees it and knows that I gave it to her. It's the least that I can do to help; after all, she does provide daily for the family. I don't know where I'd be without her.

I set it down, and slowly cover it with a napkin to make sure that nothing gets at it. I walk over to my bed I share with Katniss, hesitate, and then walk back to my mother's. Whenever I was little and had nightmares I climbed in with her, and it always helped then. I don't see why it shouldn't now.

I move over to the left side of the bed and wrap the thin blanket around me, and slide a hand over to hold hers under the cover. Her hand is warm, and I hold onto it tightly. I'm almost afraid to go back to sleep, scared that the horrible nightmares will start again and I'll be left defenseless as my sister gets called up for The Hunger Games. I don't want to think about it, though, so I don't... I just close my eyes and try to imagine us happy. It's been a long time since happiness as fell over this house, or any part of the Seam, so I can barely imagine smiling faces and laughing voices.

I fall into a wonderful dream of sunlight, singing, and what's the closest I've ever come to happiness.


End file.
